After what seemed like the sixth hour of waiting, I made a suggestion:
"Maybe if somebody ran the can opener that would get her attention."
Seven safari vehicles are clustered anxiously by the roadside. Camera lenses and binoculars are pointed eagerly at a slightly paler patch of grass in the hopes of catching a good view of the lionesses concealed behind it. We know that they're still there. Every so often there is a laconic tail flick, or once in a great while one of them will stand up, walk a few paces, and flop back out of sight with the air of an exhausted Labrador. I'm starting to think this is deliberate. Between these rare bursts of activity, roughly twenty people are leaning out of cars, literally watching the grass grow.
"Dry season" someone reminds me "watching grass not grow".
Our guides are chatting happily among themselves in their own language. Either they are comparing routes through the park or debating how long the white people will put up with this.
Queen Elizabeth National Park is a painter's version of Africa. It was formed by several volcanic eruptions aeons ago. The usual rusty red African soil is replaced by ash gray. The terrain is varied and picturesque. There are extinct volcanic craters filled with salt ponds and forest vistas. There are pale golden grasslands punctuated by candelabra trees which look like a crossbreed between an aquatic sponge and an unpruned cactus. There are red tinted hills with flattop acacia scrawled onto them. There are emerald woodlands seaming with birds and monkeys. There are even several giant lakes alive with buffalo, hippo, and bird life. There are warthogs, baboons, waterbucks and all the Uganda kob you could eat. Queen Elizabeth is rich in wildlife and lovely. I have seen more birds of prey here than anywhere else.
Everyone wants to see the cats. If you see four or more vehicles gathered on safari, it's ninety percent sure that it's because of lions. On every group excursion I have been on, someone invariably asks to see the big lion, as though you could schedule an appointment.
Nature of course doesn't work like this. Even in the section of the park famous for it's tree climbing lions, there is no real assurance that you will see them. Cats as a tribe are secretive and hard to spot. I have met very few people that have seen a leopard. A game drive is by its very nature a gamble. Every bush could hide someone fascinating, but the reserves are enormous. You are very much at the mercy of chance, even with the best guide in Africa
To look for something specific is the surest recipe for frustration. I have been on drives where the only animals visible for hours are the most common and least exciting herbivores. Just about at the point where you have vowed to kick the next warthog that you mistake for something more exciting, you stumble upon a muddy dogpile of hippos unexpectedly far from the water, or a herd of about fifteen elephants grazing placidly so close you can hear their stomachs gurgle the calves meandering in a forest of legs.
The sun sinks lower in the sky. Finally our lionesses reveal themselves. There are three, thus settling that debate. They wander further into the savanna and out of range of my zoom, looking black against the golden grass. It is the best lion sighting I would have in Queen Elizabeth.
"Maybe if somebody ran the can opener that would get her attention."
Seven safari vehicles are clustered anxiously by the roadside. Camera lenses and binoculars are pointed eagerly at a slightly paler patch of grass in the hopes of catching a good view of the lionesses concealed behind it. We know that they're still there. Every so often there is a laconic tail flick, or once in a great while one of them will stand up, walk a few paces, and flop back out of sight with the air of an exhausted Labrador. I'm starting to think this is deliberate. Between these rare bursts of activity, roughly twenty people are leaning out of cars, literally watching the grass grow.
"Dry season" someone reminds me "watching grass not grow".
Our guides are chatting happily among themselves in their own language. Either they are comparing routes through the park or debating how long the white people will put up with this.
Queen Elizabeth National Park is a painter's version of Africa. It was formed by several volcanic eruptions aeons ago. The usual rusty red African soil is replaced by ash gray. The terrain is varied and picturesque. There are extinct volcanic craters filled with salt ponds and forest vistas. There are pale golden grasslands punctuated by candelabra trees which look like a crossbreed between an aquatic sponge and an unpruned cactus. There are red tinted hills with flattop acacia scrawled onto them. There are emerald woodlands seaming with birds and monkeys. There are even several giant lakes alive with buffalo, hippo, and bird life. There are warthogs, baboons, waterbucks and all the Uganda kob you could eat. Queen Elizabeth is rich in wildlife and lovely. I have seen more birds of prey here than anywhere else.
Everyone wants to see the cats. If you see four or more vehicles gathered on safari, it's ninety percent sure that it's because of lions. On every group excursion I have been on, someone invariably asks to see the big lion, as though you could schedule an appointment.
Nature of course doesn't work like this. Even in the section of the park famous for it's tree climbing lions, there is no real assurance that you will see them. Cats as a tribe are secretive and hard to spot. I have met very few people that have seen a leopard. A game drive is by its very nature a gamble. Every bush could hide someone fascinating, but the reserves are enormous. You are very much at the mercy of chance, even with the best guide in Africa
To look for something specific is the surest recipe for frustration. I have been on drives where the only animals visible for hours are the most common and least exciting herbivores. Just about at the point where you have vowed to kick the next warthog that you mistake for something more exciting, you stumble upon a muddy dogpile of hippos unexpectedly far from the water, or a herd of about fifteen elephants grazing placidly so close you can hear their stomachs gurgle the calves meandering in a forest of legs.
The sun sinks lower in the sky. Finally our lionesses reveal themselves. There are three, thus settling that debate. They wander further into the savanna and out of range of my zoom, looking black against the golden grass. It is the best lion sighting I would have in Queen Elizabeth.
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